Retribution and Revolution
by Dawn Moon
Summary: BLOODLINES SPOILERS! Sequel to "Undead Hearts Still Beat." Wrayth, a Malkavian, avenges her murdered sire. Now she aids her allies in battle and has fun at the expense of others' sanity. RE-rewritten...yeah, I know.
1. Vengeance on a Ventrue

The sequel to "Undead Hearts Still Beat" and "Vampire: the Masquerade – Bloodlines**". Warning! This will contain spoilers for Bloodlines, so be warned, if you haven't played it, this may ruin it for you. I'd advise you to play it. It rocks! It's best to read "Undead Hearts..." first as well...**

Disclaimer: White Wolf owns all in-game characters, tidbits of dialogue, places, and other such from the VtM games. My character, my plot, that's it.

**Beast**  
Humanity  
_Thoughts_  
_**Voices**_

-  
Retribution and Revolution  
Chapter One: Vengeance on a Ventrue

**-Ventrue Tower, midnight-**

The night rang with a final singing slash and the gargantuan bat-creature that had been the mighty Sheriff disintegrated into nothing. Black blood dripped from the long, glittering blade in the Kindred's grasp and pooled around her leather boots. The barrels of the Desert Eagle holstered at her hip and the 'Dragon's Breath' strapped to her back were still hot and smoking. The smell of smoldering flesh and fur and ashes assailed her nostrils and she sneered in triumph. It was a sweet incense of victory to her. All around her, warform Kindred gaped at the sight of her standing victorious. She lowered her dark shades and glared at them; mismatched eyes of gold and silver glittered with madness, daring them to attack her after what they had witnessed. A few began to advance before they all thought better of it and grudgingly slunk away from her. Their bloodlust was not wasted, however; the straggling SWAT soldiers running panicked on the roof had to be dealt with by _someone_. Oblivious to the bloody preservation of the Masquerade, she stalked forward towards the door where she knew her true prey waited.

Stepping through the elevator doors, Wrayth jabbed the penthouse level button. As she sheathed the Ta'malhe'Ra blade, its lightness hanging opposite the weighty pistol, she smoothed her hand over the top of her dark hair. She must look her very best for the prince. A smirk filled with malice spread on her wine-dark lips. "Death comes for you now, Demon Jester."

The elevator doors hissed open and she entered the penthouse. The yet-unopened sarcophagus lay stony and impenetrable. She passed it by, suppressing a shudder that the yet unknown disaster sleeping within it. LaCroix stood still as a statue, facing the window. She knew he heard her come in, he was just too cowardly to face her. As much as she would have loved to stick her blade through his dead heart, she _had_ to see his eyes as he died. She deserved that much after all of this.

Finally, he turned, touching his forehead in disillusionment. "Like sire, like childe." He glared at her. "I should have killed you that night. How could someone as low as you injure me?" Desperately, he smiled, grasping at the last hope he had. "You think you've taken everything away. But I still have my sarcophagus!"

_He's crazier than I am and he's not even of my blood._ Wrayth threw back her head and let her laughter bounce off the gilded walls. He had nothing. No alliances, no Sheriff; he was all hers now! At last! She wanted so much to slice his head off, or to drain his Ventrue veins into husks, taboos be damned. So many ways to have fun! Finally, she decided to toy with him a little more, to flaunt his helplessness in his face. _That_ would cut deepest. "A snake with gloves. But I have your hands."

Unperturbed, he laughed quietly. "You've done all the work for me once again. So much to learn. I thought I had lost it all, but no. Here you've sailed on a Gehenna wind, bearing my salvation. The key to my future."

At the mention of the final day, her skin crawled. She should finish him now, watch his wretched body burn as Myyrth's did, but her twisted mind couldn't resist a little more teasing. She patted the satchel at her side, bulging with the weighty unlocking mechanism. "Oh, please try to take it..._please_!"

He smiled charmingly and laughed. She felt his mind try to enter hers as he stared angrily into her eyes. "Give - me - the key."

With a giggle she couldn't hold in, pushed the Prince out of her mind. He gaped as he felt his influence pressed back onto himself. The Malkavian shook her head slowly. "Not going to happen."

Startled, he leaned forward into her face, his anger clouding his power to manipulate. "I said, GIVE - ME - THE - KEY!"

Playtime was over. "Give you a massive chest wound? My pleasure!" Snatching up the ankh-shaped letter opener from the desk, she lunged forward and slashed his pale, pretty throat. He gargled and grabbed the wound, leaving his chest open for her to plunge the makeshift weapon into his heart. He doubled over in pain and she slammed her elbow into his back full force. She chuckled as she heard a vertebra or two crack. The prince crumbled to his knees, gasping and choking. She smiled in satisfaction, tucking the bloody ankh into her belt. She reached for her blade for the final strike. _At last..._

_**The Beast consumes its own prey.**_

She stayed her hand as the spectral voice faded. The old wolf's warning resurfaced in her mind...

_"If that sarcophagus is opened, there will be disaster. In what form I cannot be sure. But after studying the evidence, I'm convinced now that it is better left undisturbed. And anyone who would pursue any other course is deserving of the consequences."_

At her feet, the fallen prince whimpered, his throat wound closing up enough so that he could speak again. "It can't end like this. Don't you understand the Kuei-jin will kill us all? I can't lose...I will open the sarcophagus. I'll build an empire. It won't end here."

Her mind rewound for a moment, carefully trying to decide what the noble savage had meant. It was all too cryptic, even for her. Best to let _someone else_ find out. She pulled the carved stone mechanism out and let it dangle from her hand. "Me, open that?" LaCroix looked up at her, panic and pleading in his eyes. He shook his head weakly. She chuckled and nodded her head. The prince began to whine and whimper, shaking his head in vehement denial, dreading the thought of her stealing his prize. Her laughter grew louder and louder as she nodded more fervently. This was so fun!

Suddenly, she stopped, her face deathly serious. Slowly, she gave her head a deliberate shake. "All yours. Like you, I'm gone."

She dropped the key, its deceptively heavy mass striking the floor with a thud. Turning on her heel, she walked into the elevator, turning again to watch the prince dragging himself towards the key as the doors closed. The elevator descended, LaCroix's fading voice taunting her as she neared the ground floor. She passed the cowering butterball behind the front desk and pushed the glass doors open to exit the ivory tower. The whisper of a crazed laugh echoed above her.

No sooner did she set foot on the asphalt, then a massive skull-rattling explosion rocked the sidewalk. She spun around and looked up to see fiery debris belching out of the penthouse floor. Boulder-sized chunks of concrete plummeted towards the ground and she dove out of the way. She rolled and leapt to her feet, bolting away from the rain of ruins. When she was a safe distance away, she stopped and looked back. Damn, but she had dodged a bullet!

She looked up at the fire spewing building, and she knew LaCroix had perished in agony. In the end, Myyrth was right; The blind lady works in erratic ways. LaCroix had experienced his own, personal Gehenna.

LaCroix was no more, but the void left by Myyrth's death was still gaping. She supposed it always would be. Warped was her mind, but the strongest memories still remained. Even stronger than the pain of loss was a memory of passion that had fueled her to get where she was now. Her revenge was complete.

"Rest well, Laughing Boy. Those who burned you are ashen."

She shook herself and focused. She had to get to Santa Monica quickly and the path through the sewers was too long. She needed a ride, and there was no cabbie waiting at the bus stop this time.

A growl rumbled down the street and she ducked into an alley. Peeking her head out, she saw a leather-clad figure pulling up to the corner on a slowing motorcycle. Wrayth gazed at it with appreciation. Sleek gunmetal chrome, straight pipes vibrating, and a motor that looked like it could haul ass: gorgeous. The slim figure dismounted and removed his helmet. He smoothed his hand over his short hair and brushed the dust from his apparel. Wrayth watched his hand pass over the shiny brass badge on his breast pocket. One of L.A.'s finest coming to see what the fuss was about. _Dinner and a free ride..._

She hid her weapons in a galvanized can in the opening of the alley. Assuming a pose of distraught fear, she staggered towards him, glancing over her shoulder for effect. When she was about six feet away from him, he finally noticed her. "You there! Hold it!"

He quickly pulled out his .38 and took aim. Inwardly, she laughed at the pea-popper, but for drama, she gasped and threw her hands up in front of her face, cowering like a good little girl facing a gun. "Don't perforate me!"

"Oh, my god!" He holstered his gun and walked towards her. She wrapped her arms around her waist and took a furtive step forward. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you." He ruffled his hand through his brown hair, embarrassed. "It's just, well, there was a sort of gang war going on tonight over in Santa Monica."

"I am not one of the street urchins," she said, her voice wavering.

"Well, they were an assorted group, and uh, I couldn't tell who you were from here."

"Do the children play their nasty games in the city of angels as well?"

"Yes. We think they might've been responsible for the terrorist attack on the Ventrue Tower earlier." He looked up at the smoldering wreckage of the upper floors of the ivory monolith. Fragments of flaming drywall fluttered down like hellish snow. "Looks like they succeeded this time."

Wrayth smiled a little, beginning to change tact. "Seems you're atop the ball tonight. Our city is in the blue boys' good hands."

The officer reddened under her sweetened stare and compliments. He puffed his chest out and held his head high. "Well, we shut down those punks in Santa Monica already. Knew they couldn't keep the fight up all night. They're all the same, these street gangs, and we're wise to all of them."

_Don't talk to me about wisdom, Deputy Fife,_ Wrayth thought, her insight telling her that this human knew nothing about the true nature of the Bloodhunt or the "terrorist attacks". She stepped closer to him, pressing her soft body against his. Her voice dropped into a silky whisper. "I feel so safe with you. Your arms look strong..."

She lifted a hand to his face as he struggled to come up with a response. Drawing her finger down his cheek in a sensual stroke, she took away his ability to think. He leaned forward to hold her, but she took control and swept him low in her arms. Her gold-and-silver eyes delved into his, and in natural response to a female Kindred, his head fell back with a blissful expression. She fixated on the vein in his neck, the bluish fork pulsing faster as her effect on him grew stronger. The hot scent of blood beneath his skin swept over her and she fell into the thrall of feeding. Her fangs slid through his skin, she sensation making him gasp in pleasure. Softly, hypnotically, she pulled the blood from him and felt it spread through her limbs and into her mind.

His muscles began relaxing further as his strength slipped away. He groaned in ecstasy as her fangs slipped out of the tiny wound. She softly licked it, catching any leftover blood and effectively closing up the wound. As she set him upright, the key fell from his fingers and clinked on the asphalt. His chin rested on his chest and he swayed on his feet, a sleepy smile on his face.

Grinning, she stooped to pick up the key. "Thanks for the toy, Blue Boy." She turned and retrieved her weapons, picked up his forgotten helmet and strode towards her ride.


	2. Truth Cuts Deepest

**Beast**  
Humanity  
_Thoughts_  
_**Voices**_

-  
Retribution and Revolution  
Chapter Two: Truth Cuts Deepest

-  
**-Santa Monica-**  
**-Mercurio's apartment-**

"LaCroix's dead?" Mercurio fell silent and slumped onto the couch. "I tell you, I knew you were tough, but that was somethin' I expected you to burn from. Not that I wanted that, mind you, but I've seen that Sheriff barrel through whole packs of Sabbat."

Wrayth walked over to him, gazing down from behind her shades. "Your words are clearly defined Mercury." She lifted her shades to rest in her hair and began pacing the floor. She thought about the situation she'd left him in. Without a sire, a ghoul's resilience waned and disappeared after a few short days. "I must apologize for stripping you of your sanguine sips."

"Well, we all gotta age sometime. Gonna be a bitch without that blood."

Wrayth's brain suddenly boiled with ideas. This man, this mortal slave to her enemy, had risked everything to aid her in her final quest for vengeance. She couldn't let him whither. "You told me a tale of the blood baron's kindness once. Why not ally with his veins?"

He looked up at her, raising an eyebrow. "I don't follow. Damn Malks…speak English. Sane English."

"Let the baron of Tinsletown gain your services. Sell him your boom-sticks, as he will need them in the war ahead. Once your veins clear of the jester's taint, perhaps he will supply you with sweeter redness."

Mercurio was silent, thinking. Finally, he shrugged. "What the hell. He's decent. You said somethin' about a war. That Malk code for somethin'?"

"Plain and simple, Mercury. The Liberators plan to play chess with the Capes for the city of angels."

"So it's finally going down, huh? Well, getting over a fix is hell and I should be pissed at you. But you've been real good to me, Wrayth, so I'll get over it. Anything I can supply you before you go?"

Wrayth smiled. "Feed my little loud ones."

Later, her wallet a little lighter and arsenal a little heavier, she exited the apartments and ducked into an alley. She mounted the bike and gunned the engine. It was time to help others reclaim a past possession.

**-Hollywood-**

The bike slowed to a stop before the armed Kindred on either side of the overpass. Between them was the monolithic gargoyle. They eyed her guns and the shimmering blade and stepped in front of the gargoyle.

"Password?" The burly Gangrel flexed his clawed fingers as his Brujah partner shifted the shotgun in his hands. Wrayth slowly reached up and removed her helmet, her hair askew.

"I think your soldier here knows my face." She gazed up at the gargoyle, hoping he would recognize her as the peacemaker he met three nights ago. The gargoyle's ruby-red eyes glinted and he gargled low in his throat, crossing his arms over his massive chest.

"I know this Kindred. She forged my alliance with your baron. Let her pass."

The two guards exchanged a glance, deciding it would be best not to argue with their rocky ally. They nodded and lowered their respective weapons.

"So you're the one, huh?" The tall Brujah said, a ghost of a smile on his face. "Heard about you. Go ahead in. Be strong tonight, Sister."

Wrayth nodded at them and hooked her helmet on the handlebars. "May you survive this night of blood." As she slowly rode into the city, the gargoyle sent her a final growl and turned back to his post.

She pulled to a stop in front of the Lucky Star Hotel and parked against a lamppost. The streets were filled with Kindred, calmly talking with each other, exchanging ammo, cursing the Camarilla. She smiled. Anarchs. She had learned to detect the subtle differences in the blood of the clans. The Brujah scent was thick on the streets, wisps of Nosferatu from the shadows. Toreador and Malkavian lingered here and there. She felt a little better knowing that she would not be the only one of her kind among the throngs. _Crazy Kindred with guns...what fun!_

A number of heads turned in her direction, murmurs rising in queries. She caught sight of VV, her pretty poet. The Toreador saw her and blew her a kiss from her rosy mouth. Wrayth smiled and touched her cheek as if holding the invisible kiss there. The dancer was dressed in a pair of tight white leather pants and a red leather corset, the long katana sheathed at her side barely concealed by a long white leather trench coat. An interesting contrast to her skimpy teddy and prominent breasts as she had seen her last night.

_Looks like my dolly has come out of her box._ But playing catch-up with her dolly would have to wait. Wrayth slipped through the crowds, heading for the jewelry shop.

**-Isaac's Shop-**

"Well, I suppose with the reputation you've got now, it would be unfair to call you neonate." The chisel-cheeked Toreador flashed his sidelong grin at her as she stood before him. The last time they were together, he had told her that she had a lot of promise. She intended to show she could keep them as well.

"I hope these nights find you well, blood baron."

"Very. Aside from Ash's disappearance and Nines almost getting ripped in two, things couldn't be going better for us. And I understand a large part of that is due to you." He sat in a high-backed chair, his elegant fingers curling casually around the armrests. "Tell me all about it, and don't worry about sparing details. We Toreadors can appreciate death as art at times."

"With pleasure. One morsel from your mind first." The baron nodded, waiting. "How is the ninth one?"

Isaac smiled. "He's alright. Still healing a bit, but he's up and about and burning to fight."

Wrayth relaxed a little more. She owed her unlife to Nines and the L.A. Anarchs. "For a satisfying start, the demon priestess is no more. Cthulu's creator couldn't have penned such a monster."

"Yes, Damsel told me you went to Chinatown tonight. Those devils cost us a good number of our comrades. I commend you. It should be easier to take care of them after we take back Los Angeles. Now, tease me no more. What happened with that candy-dandy prince?"

Laughter almost bubbled out of Wrayth as she replayed the events of her revenge. "The Jester's hound was truly a bat. Big wings."

"A Chiropteran Behemoth. Yes, I've heard that they existed."

"Exist_ed_, yes. No more. The candy man tried to mind-fuck the key from me. But I was too smart for that."

"He tried to Dominate you in Elysium? Fascist fop." Isaac sneered, a look that somehow remained beautiful in his face. "And the key. You must mean the key to that sarcophagus he was looking for. There were rumors that it contained one of the fathers."

"False. But whatever was in there, it didn't like him very much." She smiled maliciously and clamped down on more laughter.

Issac raised an elegant eyebrow. "Beg pardon?"

The laughter finally issued forth in a fit of soft giggles. "Ka-Boom!"

Isaac looked thunderstruck for a moment, and then his charmingly pleased smile lifted his face. "Fitting. But how?"

"That information the voices hide, but a little lupine bird told me disaster slumbered within it." Briefly, she wondered where Beckett was. Was he still trekking the countryside as a sinewy wolf?

The baron's voice interrupted her thoughts. "You must mean Beckett. I spoke with him recently. His work has furnished more than one Toreador's collection. He not only documents our history, but he's also uncovered Kindred art and literature. Remarkable pieces. Do you think he knew just what would happen if it were opened?"

She shook her head. "The only way to know was to know. And the old wolf's speculation served him, and me, well."

"But how were you so sure he was correct?"

"Ah, dear blood baron, I have connections on the inside. Unfortunately, the wires can wiggle loose at times." She leaned against the desk, giggling madly at her own joke. Isaac gave her a strange look and she became serious. "I have news for you."

"No doubt. I've heard you are a purveyor of secrets."

"Do you believe in gods?"

"In the religious sense, I'm a little skeptical."

"Skepticism will get you no boom-sticks from the swift-footed deity. The late Jester's ghoul seeks to serve under your banner."

"Ah, Mercurio. Yes, he supplies Romero with ammunition to keep the…cemetery problem in check." He looked Wrayth squarely in the eye. "I know he is a good businessman, but are you certain he won't betray us to the Camarilla?"

Wrayth nodded. "His neck is intact because of my silence, and mine because of his noisy gifts. He has blessed me these bloody nights, all the way up to this beauty that made a dust pile of the bat-beast." She tapped the Colt and hoped Isaac would get what she was saying. If Mercurio had any real love for the Camarilla, he would've stopped her supply before she went after his sire.

Finally, Isaac nodded. "I see your point. Well, I've no reason at all not to trust you. I'll send a car for him. I expect he will need a supplier for his condition now that LaCroix is dead."

"He was practically dry when I last saw him." Suddenly, she remembered something. "I know of your dead phoenix."

Isaac lit up. "Ash...you saw him? Where is he, what happened?"

"At the murderous monastery, the fiery bird was caged, his angel face made hellish."

Isaac's eyes filled with genuine concern. "He was...alive when you saw him?"

She wanted to laugh at the inane statement, but remembered her respect for him and smiled sadly. "None of us live, Baron, but yes he was still among us. I freed him and he wished to disappear again."

He sighed. "I suppose I won't see him again. I wish I had more time with him."

"I share your longing. I wish upon a star for lost moments with a laughing boy." The pair shared a moment of silence for their missing counterparts and Wrayth straightened. "Pardon me, but I must visit the numbered one."

"Of course. He's still at the Lucky Star. I expect he'll be glad to see you."

As Wrayth turned to go, something in her pocket pressed against her leg. "Oh, my mind remembers. I picked out something for you." She wiggled her fingers into her pocket and pulled out a long chain with a heavy gold cross the size of her palm dangling from it. Blood-red garnet cabochons glowed in the display lighting as she placed it on Isaac's desk.

He picked it up and examined it with his artist's eye. "Hmm, interesting piece. A little gaudy, but expertly crafted. I'd say, 17th Century, Bavarian or German." He broke from his musings and looked at Wrayth strangely. "What is this?"

"A tribute and trophy from the hunters' pope." She reached for it and turned it over in his hand. Engraved on the back of the cross was the inscription "Verator de Patris Sanctus".

"'Hunter of the Holy Father...'" Isaac's pale eyes registered this and he glanced up at her. A dark smile crossed his lips. "So, you know I am a collector."

"Baron of Entropy, that is but a crumb of the feast of knowledge these nights have fed me. May it adorn your curio well." With that, she swept out of the jewelry shop and made her way down the Kindred filled streets.

**-Lucky Star Hotel-**

"Hey." Damsel tossed her head in salutation as Wrayth made her way up the stairs. "You made it back in one piece. Guess you're really one of us now."

"Our banner casts a shadow that shields us from the parental sun."

For the first time since Wrayth met her, Damsel smiled. It was more of a smirk, but you had to take what you could get from the hard-nosed Brujah. "Never thought I'd get used to your kook-talk. You're alright."

"Aw, love you too my candy-heart!" Wrayth moved as if she were about to hug her and Damsel jumped back. Realizing she'd been psyched out, she glared at the giggling Malkavian.

"I don't think I'll ever get used to _you_," she muttered and stepped away from the door and Wrayth walked in, still giggling.

Behind the door to the bathroom, Wrayth heard the sound of water from the shower. The human part of her mind remembered the comfort of a hot shower and she smiled. Skelter stood beside the door, his dark face emotionless. He heard her approach and stiffened, but to her surprise, he fully relaxed and grinned when he recognized her.

"Well, well. Welcome back. Looks like I was wrong about you. You understand my prejudices now though, right?"

It was the closest thing to an apology she was ever going to get from him. She smiled and nodded. "I got no strings on me, 'cause they tried to lynch me with them."

"Yeah, Nines told me that you were framed for his werewolf attack. We went back up there and looky what we found." He fished around in his pocket and pulled out a small charm that looked like it might've been part of an earring. It was decorated with a tiny yin-yang surrounded by hanzi characters.

"The demon priestess brought brimstone to the hellhound's domain," Wrayth said to no one in particular. Her anger at the eastern Kindred refueled, but the cooling balm of their slaughter calmed her and she smiled. Glancing about the room, she realized that the werewolf's head was gone, though the sheets on the shabby bed were still splattered with blood. The smell of the foreign vitae made her a little nauseous. "Where's the nasty noggin of Nines's nemesis?"

"Oh, that. Well, he wouldn't stop telling the story, nervous energy I guess. So we sent a Nos to take it to the Last Round. Figured it'd make a nice addition upstairs."

Wrayth giggled. It was a funny image, the mammoth dog's head mounted on the wall, tongue flopping out like a buffoon. "My wishing star is full tonight, the newest that I could have brought back the Demoness's head to compliment your trophy case."

Skelter's grin grew nasty. "Yeah, I thought I smelled devil's blood in here. You are one crazy bitch. But you're on our side, so I guess I'll have to deal with it."

"Hey, is that who I think it is?" The voice from behind the bathroom door startled her out of her conversation. _A naked number,_ she thought, her mind bubbling with dirty thoughts. The fact that Nines stirred these thoughts was a surprise even to her. But then, she couldn't fully control where her crazy mind took her.

"Yeah man, she's here. Want me to go?"

"Yeah, just for a minute."

Skelter sent Wrayth a last nod of approval and silently left. It seemed strange that he had to ask to leave, but she pushed the thought aside. The sound of the water stopped and she heard wet feet squish into a damp towel. After a few moments, the door creaked open and Nines stepped out dressed in black leather pants. He pulled a white muscle tank over his head and Wrayth pouted as his body disappeared under the clothing. _Spoilsport._

"Well, the mad avenger. I heard that you took them both out by yourself. Wish I could've seen it..." He shook his head. Wrayth felt for him, knowing the pleasure of watching her enemy die. Her instinct compelled her to turn and switch on the TV.

"I think that the squawk box will coo sweeter words tonight," she said as she sat on the bed. Her joking journalist rattled off the "latest breaking news" she herself being the author of most of it.

"...the police still search for the Southland Slasher, and they vow that this vicious criminal will be brought to justice." Wrayth sent a pleasant thought towards that Kindred, her fellow in vengeance, hoping he'd found some measure of peace.

"In other news, Chinatown's temple of Golden Virtue was assaulted this evening. At about ten o'clock, residents claimed hearing screams and shots from the interior of the temple. Police entered to find the bodies of over forty guards. A distinct fishy odor was detected in the place, so the causes of death may have been a customer disgruntled about the quality of the sushi.

"In downtown L.A., a large explosion rocked the city this evening around midnight. The Ventrue Tower, a pillar of economic strength for the city, was severely damaged by a blast which experts say came from the inside. Investigators found several dead guards inside the lobby, some by gunshots, others by apparent heart attacks. The security staff was questioned but no bomb threats had been issued, and no unauthorized people were seen in the tower after 7 p.m., despite the quote, 'feeling that someone was watching us'. Brilliant gentlemen, it's called security cameras. Luckily we at the station received some outside footage of the blast by an unknown source."

The reporter disappeared after a moment and footage of the Ventrue tower appeared. A youthful voice rattled on about his first time in the city, and the brief history of the tower and its founder. The view zoomed in as far as it could go, catching the glimpse of something igniting on the roof. Moments later, the cameraman moved along the street, swinging his camera in the direction of the abandoned hospital. Suddenly, the sound of an explosion made the tourist drop his camera. He snatched it up quickly and pointed it up at the sky. Flames and debris belched out of the tower and the cameraman ran from the scene, backward it seemed, as the footage never stopped. The reported appeared in a side screen. "We are accepting leads from any reliable source as to the happenstance of this tragedy, but as always, we know it was you."

Wrayth groaned and switched off the TV. "They always blame me," she pouted. She shrugged and turned to Nines, who was staring at her strangely. "Beg pardon, Noble Number. My mouth often elopes with my mind."

He still stared at her, then startled and shook his head. "No it's fine...it's just...you're really something kid."

"The voices tell me I'm something, everyone tells me I'm something. I wish they'd tell me what I am." There was no humor in her voice. There was no life in her voice either. Inside, she felt the hole created by Myyrth's killers beginning to open again. She turned away from the Brujah and rubbed her forehead absently. "I...embrace your alliance, numbered one. My many-minded psyche is feeling a little singular right now."

She startled as Nines's strong hand landed gently on her shoulder. "That's the Beast feeling useless, my friend. I've felt it. After a big battle, something you've fought for and won, the Beast gets excited and you feel alive. But after a while, it's like coming off of a high. You get down, almost depressed."

"My monster mind may well be the root, but the melancholy branches out, blossoms into blighted blooms. It's a hanging tree, and many nights I've longed to swing away."

"I'm sure every Kindred has. I know I did. After my sire was killed, I didn't know who, or what I was. But I survived, I found out, and I know my place. You will too."

"Knowledge is key to staying undead, but I've learned things I never wished. I wished to know no more from the moment he was taken." She looked at him with a little bitterness. "My laughter left with my life, and I wanted to chase it. Why did you save this orphaned lunatic?"

The hand on her shoulder tightened and he turned her to face him. "I did it because Myyrth asked me to."

Just like that, something clicked in her head. Something that sounded like a lock. The first voice she ever heard. The one that introduced her to the man with a number for a name. _**Eight before him have fallen...he knew laughter...**_ It made sense to her now. "You...you were my eyes. The ocular gift he gave me."

"To put it that way, yes. Myyrth came to us after he sired you, while you were in the death-trance. He told us to take care of you in case anything happened to him. I'm sure he knew, in that Malkavian way of his, that something would happen."

"But you also knew. Why leave me crippled and blinded? Why not pull us both from the flames?" She pushed away from him, suddenly furious. "You held the sword in tandem with the hound!"

Nines's sympathetic look fled his face and he glared at her. "Elysium was in place, we had no power to call upon! Besides, he made the request for _you_ to be saved, not him!"

Out of impulse, Wrayth slapped him. "Requests, riddles, ridiculous! You killed my heart that night!" Nines growled and stepped towards her. _Bring it on..._

"Cool it!" The pair turned to the door, where a tall, ragged figure stood, the red tip of a cigar glowing. Jack stepped forward. "We just scored a major point in this war and you're bickering like an old married couple!"

Wrayth glared at him. "Never deny the crazy girl with a gun her rant, smiling one. Truths are as vital as vitae tonight."

Jack laughed and took a long drag in his cigar. "Ah, dammit kid, you're a ball of hellfire! I'm surprised you're still standing after belting your buddy there."

"Jack. Where the hell have you been?" Nines asked, still glaring at Wrayth.

"Just seeing an old friend...and watching the fireworks. Heh-heh. Nice show there, kiddo."

Wrayth didn't smile at the compliment. All she could think of was her loss. "I won't beg your forgiveness, ninth one, but I will have to consider yours."

"You got nothing to forgive, Wrayth, just like he has nothing to be sorry about." Jack stopped and rubbed the cigar out in an ashtray. "You want truth, fine, here it is. It was...ahh, geez...you see... it was Myyrth's choice to die that night."

Wrayth gaped. "Not true! He killed me so I might live on! With him!"

"Yeah, that was the plan, but things change." Nines motioned to the bed and in shock  
Wrayth sat heavily. "When they brought you guys in to be executed, believe me, I wanted to save both of you. Myyrth was one of my good friends, and a strong ally. But he told me that his part in this life was over and you were to live on. He said it was a matter of preserving your life over his."

"Why? Why was he not the teacher? I'd hop, skip and, jump over the Jester's shit!" She shot up and paced the room furiously, a growl rumbling in her throat. Her anger and frustration were feeding on these unfortunate truths. She felt her Beast sipping at her blood, slowly draining her reserves of control. She unsheathed her sword and grabbed the blade, pulling it through her fist faster than the two men could stop her. Jamming the sword back into its sheath, she stared angrily at the already closing wound. Her store of blood now dangerously low, she dropped to her knees and knuckled her fists into the carpet, snarling like a caged animal. Nines and Jack exchanged a worried glance.

"Kid? Hey, kiddo? Say somethin'." Jack took a step toward her.

Slowly, she raised her head and bared her fangs. Her sight went blood red and she suddenly leapt at them with a roar. **"Murderers!"**

The door opened with a bang and someone flew into the room. There was a loud, wooden crack and her red world turned black.

_Oh, fuck,_ she thought as her Beast, and all else, went quiet.


	3. The Mind Hall and the Strange Rose

/  
Inside the Mind hall

**Beast**  
Humanity  
_Thoughts_  
_**Voices**_

-  
Retribution and Reclamation  
Chapter Three: The Mind Hall and the Strange Rose

_Sneaky little bloodsuckers...show them...gotta get up...Fuck, this hurts...gotta...get...UP!_

Wrayth's eyes opened and she jumped to her feet, braced to leap on the next being she saw. Blinking in surprise, she looked about curiously.

Her compatriots were gone, the smell of werewolf blood was gone and she wasn't even in the hotel room anymore. She was in a field of darkness that stretched out everywhere. Mist blanketed what she assumed was the ground as it blended in with the rest of the atmosphere around her. The air felt oppressive and thick and it made her glad that she had no need for respiration.

_Where am I?_ She was surprised to find that the thought was audible. As if she'd spoken into a microphone. It echoed off of unseen walls and was answered with ghostly whispers of itself. She wondered apprehensively if it was indeed her echo or if the voices were fucking with her.

She lifted her foot and tested the ground before her, amused and afraid of the thought of stepping off into space. It held. _Squishy...like Jell-O..._ Confident, she took another step. After missing the three steps leading down and smacking her face on the suddenly hard ground, she got up muttering a fantastic banquet of curses aloud from her mind. When she looked up, she was struck dumb by what she saw.

On either side of her, a dark hallway stretched for miles. Doors of every shape and size lined it, some partially open, others closed and barricaded with planks of wood and chains. A few even boasted razorwire wrapped around the chains. A glimmer of light twinkled through the mist at the end of the hall. Curious, she broke into a run, her feet bouncing on the unstable floor.

At last, she emerged from the oppressive hallway. There, bright with floodlights, was a wrestling pit one would usually find a batter of dirt and water and scantily clad women. Instead, it was filled with a lake of blood that would reach the tops of her feet. The white tile floor around it was splattered with the red sauce. Wrayth's throat went dry and she ran towards it.

Only when she heard the quiet growl did she see the residents of the bloody ring. Leaning on a turnbuckle, its hairy, burly arms looped over the ropes, was a monstrous animal that almost looked like the lupine lummox she'd chopped in half earlier that week. The only difference was the face as it slowly lifted its hirsute head to her. She gasped when she saw her own face dressed in fur, her plush mouth dressed bloodied fangs so long they brushed her chin, the slanted eyes a solid blood red.

On the opposite side, slumped on a stool was the apparition of a young woman, long black hair pouring over her face. She turned her head to Wrayth, the hair falling away from her face. Her face, a mirror image except for the eyes. The pure gold eyes she once had, not yet touched with Myyrth's precious silver.

_Slumbering Beast and striving Humanity._

The Beast flexed its claws and tried to push itself off of the ropes, only to slump in defeat with a ragged groan. In this new position, Wrayth could see the stump of a stake protruding from its left pectoral. Confused, she looked at her Humanity and saw a similar stump sticking out of her left breast.

You are weak.

Startled at the new voice, she glanced around and realized her Humanity had spoken in a soft whisper full of bitterness, not exactly how she expected Humanity to sound..

**Oh, quit bitching.**

The hoarse whisper from her Beast brought a mumbled curse from the ghost of her former self.

She turns to you in times of trouble, searching for the one thing she wants, and you lie to her.

**Can't complain. We've had fun these nights, haven't we?**

_Hello? I'm right here,_ she said, feeling left out of this conversation in her own mind. _My search for vengeance is fulfilled, and the lies are lighted now._

Deceptive destination. Laughter has no place among monsters such as this.

A sudden throb entered Wrayth's chest and she grabbed at her heart. Her fist closed around something hard, splinters digging into her palm. _Do not speak of him..._

You betray him. You are blind to him now.

_Do NOT speak of him. You've no right-_

I have EVERY right! You mock his sacrifice with your bloodlust!

_DO NOT SPEAK OF HIM!_

"What the hell?" Nines jumped back as Wrayth yanked the stake from her chest with a roar. She tried to stand and fell in a heap, groaning miserably. Damsel clenched the baseball bat in her hand, ready to whack her again if needed.

"Well, you're awake. 'Bout time kid."

The gravelly voice made her look up with an "I'm in no mood to be fucked with" expression on her face. Jack snickered and knelt down beside her. She snarled and tried to move away, but the ragged wound in her chest was too painful.

"You ready to sit quiet and listen? You do, and you get this." He drew a bag of blood from his vest.

Wrayth managed a weak smirk. "Not…necessary." She reached a wavering hand towards the large canvas bag she toted around. Damsel stepped forward, but Nines held out a hand, keeping her back. Wrayth pulled the nautilus-shaped chalice from it and gave it a shake. It's glassy blue eye opened, darting about mindlessly. She sank her fangs into the oily flesh and drank from the store of blood. Damsel gagged and Nines grimaced. Jack stood watching, no emotion betrayed on his bearded face. When the blood was gone, she withdrew and replaced the chalice in the bag. Slowly, she got to her feet and stretched, feeling the luscious redness spread through her, closing up her wound and renewing her strength. "My but that leaves a bad taste. Oh well." She wiped her mouth and turned to the Anarchs. "So talk. This one is listening."

Jack nodded. "Arright, now like I said, Myyrth gave the go ahead to save you. But he made us swear that we wouldn't save him, because if we did, he said that everything we fought for would be taken over. He had a 'vision' or something. He saw what would happen to you if we saved him too. Said 'The jester-prince will make us dance in the kabuki hell of the mirrored lady,' some kooky shit like that."

"Captain's orders?" She sneered. "I thought the Number held the cards."

"I did," Nines said stepping forward, "but he made it hard for us to refuse. See, he was in the chain of command with me and Skelter, and... he was also a spy, our inside look into the Camarilla."

Wrayth smiled knowingly. "He sent you black letters in the mail with his request." Now she knew where she got her powers of persuasion. A blessed hand-me-down.

"Yes. He threatened to turn over vital information to the Camarilla that probably would've sent the Sheriff after us. Everyone thought it was crap, including me, but I trusted him anyway. I gave him my word, and it was hard to keep it. But I did." Nines averted his eyes, his jaw clenching in rare emotion. "I didn't know if I had the strength to go through with it, but just before he died... he looked at us and... the crazy son of a bitch winked at us." A chuff of bitter laughter coughed out of the hardened Brujah. "Knew what he was doing apparently..."Realizing he was touching on a tender spot, he turned his eyes back to Wrayth, genuine compassion evident in their icy fire. "I know it caused you pain to have to go through that, much more than it did us, but it was out of our hands. I'm so sorry, Wrayth."

The flick of a lighter caught her attention as Jack lit up again. "That's why I was out there that night. I was supposed to see that you found your feet and made it out alive."

"You were my sight. All of you." She bowed her head. "The final gift from my Laughing Boy… My eyes are open fully now." A wave of guilt passed over her, remembering how her Humanity chided her. She turned sad eyes to Jack. "My apologies for failing your tutelage, Smiling One. I stroked the Beast one time too many."

Jack shrugged, taking another pull from the fast-shrinking cigar. "Kid, _everyone_ frenzies. Even the most upstanding Torrie bleeding-heart has done it at least once, I'll guarantee it. Doesn't make it right, but it gets easier to rein in after the first time. Promise."

With a solemn nod, she turned to Damsel, who still clutched the bat like a heavy hitter. "Damsel DiMaggio. You hit a real homer, slugger." She tapped the back of her head.

"You're just lucky I came instead of Skelter," she muttered, no trace of apology in her voice. "He wouldn't have bothered with knocking you out."

Wrayth took the warning to heart and shouldered her bag. "May I have my noisy toys, Big Brother?" Nines eyed her warily. "Lift the woe of worry. The Beast slumbers, and I intend to trade in its leash for a chain."

He sighed. "I'm giving you one more chance, Wrayth. You remember what I said about frenzying in the streets." He opened a dresser drawer and pulled out several guns and the slender occult blade. She snatched them up and held them to her chest.

"Oh, did you miss Mommy? Did you? Oh, it's okay. You're right at home. Ooh, you're shivering, poor baby." She went on cooing and nuzzling her weapons while Damsel and Nines exchanged a weird look as Jack chuckled to himself in the corner. Damsel muttered something about a "damned kooky broad" and swept out of the room. "I think I will peruse the ranks, Ninth Numeral. There is familiar blood out there."

"Check in later, and try to stay in the city if you can help it."

"Yes daddy." She threw him a playful wink and giggled on her way out the door. Nines sat on the bed and shook his head.

"She's just like him, huh Jack?"

"Yeah, man. It's like he never left."

"Think she'll be okay out there?"

Jack stared at Nines. "Okay? Man, she's a fuckin' hero, she don't need us to be her safety net now."

"No, I mean about her temper."

"Oh, don't beat around the damn bush, Nines. You're talking about the Beast. Call it what it is."

"She's volatile, Jack. I'm worried that she'll–"

"We had the same worries about Myyrth too, don't forget. Kid's gotta learn on her own. Baby steps are over. War is hell," Jack dropped the cigar butt to the ratty carpet and smashed it out, "and a ball of hellfire like her knows her way around it."

–

Wrayth made her way down the boulevard, the occult blade and heavy revolvers bouncing on her curvy hips. The shotgun on her back moved a little, the newly bought Dragon Breath shells in it clicking softly.

"Hello there, my little muse."

Wrayth's skin rushed with goosebumps and she turned smoothly to face the transformed VV. The gorgeous Toreador smiled and held her arms out to her. They came together softly, their blood-scented breaths mingling. Wrayth's mind swam a little in the presence of another female Kindred, but she steadied herself and stepped back, her eyes traversing VV's battle gear...and body.

"Lovely new skin, Dolly. You've become an action figure."

"I don't like violence, but my people need me tonight. I'm happy to see you've decided to join our ranks. Very happy. I just hope we survive long enough to spend some more time together." Her eyes fell on the slender blade hanging on Wrayth's hip. "Beautiful craftsmanship. An occult blade."

"Pretty action figure, you see art in all things." Wrayth pulled out the blade slowly and handed it to VV. "A work of art painted with bloodstains."

VV swished the blade sinuously through the air, smiling at the feel of it in her hand. Smiling, she handed it back to her companion. "I hope you paint a masterpiece tonight." She stroked her cheek and kissed her softly. Wrayth smiled against her lips and pulled her closer.

In the midst of the embrace, an unfamiliar scent, faint and whisper-thin, floated into her nose. It was Kindred blood, but one she had never smelled before. She pulled away and glanced over her shoulder. VV eyed her, concerned. "Something wrong, dear heart?"

"A strangely scented flower blooms in our midst." Wrayth wrapped her hand around the handle of her blade. Focusing, she pulled in a deep breath, catching a great many scents, but the one she wanted was almost too faint to detect. "I shall have to part ways for now, Action Figure."

"Oh, but, we just reunited. Must you?" She gave her a seductive gaze and a pout to her lips.

Wrayth smiled and placed a final kiss on her lips. "I must search our bouquet for the strange rose, and your sweetness is clouding my senses."

"Well, alright, don't be long."

As Wrayth turned from VV, the smell suddenly got a little stronger. She dropped her hand from the occult katana to keep prying eyes off of her in her search. She passed a tall male Malkavian with a tall green mohawk, where the smell was strongest. When it grew fainter again, she turned around and returned to him. She leaned in and gave his thick denim clothing a sniff, a move that seemed to excite him a little.

"Cute little crazy girl, what's with the nose inspection," he asked, grinning toothily. She cocked an eyebrow and smiled slyly.

"You're a strange smelling rose, blood brother. I smell another genus."

"Ooh, a poet, wouldn't ya know it."

"Do not mock my mouth music. It was handed down to me. Won't you tell me what garden you've been playing in?" The smell of the new bloodline was becoming more intriguing to her. She took another sniff and he laughed, darting behind her.

"Well, you have a whole bouquet of bloodlines on you, and I don't think twice about it." He ran his fingers through her ponytail and she leapt up into the air, landing soundlessly atop a streetlight. This only seen to fuel his interest, which frustrated Wrayth even more as she discovered that being in the presence of another Malkavian was intoxicating. As it was with the pigtailed Baroness of Santa Monica, it made it difficult to negotiate. She began to feel an urgent need-much like the need to feed-to discover the scent's origins.

"The broken blossoms you smell on me are familiar to your nasal passages. The scent on you is as foreign to this one as the Easterners to our kind." Then, as she stood over him, the scent wafted up to her and rooted in her brain. It was as if a key fit into a lock and opened one of the barricaded doors in her mind's hall. The scent was not altogether unfamiliar.

She grinned. "Blood Rose, you smell of a water-blooded sickling I met. She saw things as I thought we did, but further. But the scent on you is pure. Now again, what flower do you borrow that scent from?"

"Did she see us, sweet lunatic?"

"She pitied those who snare me with smiles, Entropy's Madman. It may be she did." Unable to stand being teased anymore, she flew upon him, tackling him to the asphalt. She heard him laugh heartily, then curse vehemently as they rolled about. Her sharp nails dug into the fabric of his vest and ripped away a small piece. Before he could respond, she jumped up and dashed to a manhole. "My apologies, Strange Blood Rose, but if you had not pricked me so, I might not have needed to pluck your petal. Perhaps we might meet on better terms later."

She flipped the cover off with a flick of her wrist and jumped in. She made a short trek to the access point outside the cemetery. She knew of only one Kindred who could give her the answers she sought. She just hoped the offer to drop by was still open.  
-


	4. Answers for a Price

Disc: Blah, bleh, bluh. You know how it goes. And if you don't, well, then, you should.

**Beast**  
Humanity  
_Thoughts_  
_**Voices**_

-  
Retribution and Revolution  
Chapter Four: Answers for a Price

**-Hollywood-  
-The Warrens-**

Wrayth emerged from the desecrated tomb's tunnel into the dining room. Gary's silent guests still sat with their plates of rats untouched. _Good waste of bad food,_ she thought grudgingly.

"Voice...oh voice? Come out, come out, whatever you are..."

A gravelly laugh echoed in the cavern's corners. The sound of it made Wrayth's hackles stand straight as needles. It got into her head, which was a thought she didn't like at all.

"Evening, boss. Come a'sniffing for clues? One of our boys tells me you threw quite a tantrum on one of your own."

Wrayth shrugged. "He angered the demon of knowledge that possesses me. It doesn't like it when I don't know something." She pulled the scrap of cloth from her bag and tossed it onto the table in front of Bogart's bones. An unseen hand snatched it up, and Gary appeared from the dark mists. "Know you the scent of this pulled petal?"

The former movie star raised the cloth to his nose and took a full breath of it, closing his catty eyes to isolate the scents. Those eyes popped back open and a wild grin appeared on his twisted lips when he detected the scent beneath the Malkavian's. "Hmm, mind if I ask you a question too, boss? How bad do you want to know?"

"Hello? Demon of knowledge? I don't just talk to _myself_ all the time...well, maybe I do..." She shook her head, trying to stop her madness from completely sidetracking her. "You propose an errand, visible voice?" Gary nodded. "Anything within-or without-reason."

"Jyhad's getting easier, eh boss? I promise you this will be fun and functional. You ever listen to 'The Deb of Night' show?"

"Ah, a sarcastic seductress in the sweet night."

"Well, boss, Mitnick's been keeping tabs on a frequent caller of Deb's. A guy named Gomez."

"The prophet of propaganda! The connoisseur of conspiracy! His words make my laughter loud."

"The very same. Now, normally, this guy's a harmless crackpot. But a few nights ago, Gomez got his big break. Some dumb quiff got her fangs too deep into some poor sap and ended up having to turn him. But she didn't stick around long enough to explain the Masquerade, so this guy went blabbing to Deb on the air. Our buddy Gomez got wind of it and did some digging."

"The squirrel found a store of nutty goodies?"

Gary went to sit at the head of the dinner table. "You could say that. He's a fiend for 'Haunted LA' and decent hacker and got into some of the clan's networks. Not anything you wouldn't find on any emo Goth kid's blog nowadays, but we need to nip this in the bud while it's still young and tender."

"I heard the sweet sarcastic voice ridicule the prophet's convictions."

"That's Deb's thing. She hears something potentially exposing us, she does spin control."

Wrayth smiled. "I thought her spinning words were stirring. Deb's a dead debutante?"

Gary nodded, steepling his gnarled fingers. "One of the more decent Toreadors I've met, and that's saying a lot. She went Anarch after LaCroix threatened her for being too much in the public eye. Isaac was more than happy to support her decision. That guy doesn't take kindly to squelched artists." A nasty glint entered his eyes. "By the by, nice architectural work on the tower, boss."

"Just a little thing I do...now, what else need I do?" She asked, rubbing her palms gleefully. As annoying as running errands could be, she did have quite a lot of fun at times.

"Now, don't go getting too excited. First off, you need to get rid of Gomez's evidence. He's only started really digging for Kindred for about four days, but who knows how much he's found. Mitnick will set you up with all of that. Go talk to him before you leave. Make sure that he doesn't see you if he's there, and even if he's not, there's bound to be cameras. Watch yourself. After you do that, I'll contact you about Ol' Gomez's whereabouts. Find him and, well, feel free to use that sanity-free imagination of yours, boss."

"You don't fully know what liberties you just gave me," she giggled. Then, another thought made her grow serious. "What of the chattersome childe?"

Gary's own eyes went solemn. "No need to worry about that anymore. He went complaining a little too loudly around some hunters. Went out smokin'."

Wrayth's stomach grew hot with anger. Damn hunters. But, then again, she didn't know if she herself could slaughter another Kindred just for not knowing the rules. Julius's dying pleas still prodded her Humanity when she let her guard down. At least it wasn't _her_ task this time.

"We'll be keeping an eye on you. Come back when you're finished, and I'll give you what you want. Deal, boss?"

Gary extended his twisted hand. With no hesitation, Wrayth shook it enthusiastically. "Like a deck of cards, voice."

With a nod, Gary vanished into the shadows again. "Remember, this guy is a paranoid piece of work. Don't give us up by being careless."

"Done, and when I return, we will settle this."

"You have my word, boss. You trust me, right?" The same gravelly chuckle echoed in the room and Wrayth shivered in spite of herself. She turned on her heel and made her way across the foul lake towards Mitnick's room.

The expert hacker was hunched over his keyboard, chuckling at the suckers unlucky enough to piss him off with their lack of security. "How many gnats do you snare tonight in your web, little technospider?"

"Huh? Oh, hey. Y-yeah, lemme just finish this up. Hey, hey, you wanna watch this guy's screen melt? Who just downloads porn without an anti-virus program? I mean seriously."

"Especially with you lurking in the linux. I come from the big cheese. He sends me out as a rat tonight to scramble some circuits...and maybe a kine."

"Wha? Oh, yeah, the virus. Here ya go. And here's the key to the warehouse." He opened a drawer and handed her a key card and a CD-ROM in a jewel case. Wrayth took them and examined the label on the CD.

"'Double Agent.' A new recruit for the secret web?"

Mitnick shrugged. "Well, it's actually a good system. Needs some major touch-ups, but that's easy. Follow the instructions on the note in there. It'll wipe his system clean and set up a direct line into the Schrecknet. Waste not, want not, y'know."

"Reduce, reuse, recycle. It shall be served to you on a silica platter. Farewell."

**-Downtown-  
-LA Fine Wares-**

Safely invisible, Wrayth slowly crept into the warehouse. The place was a hacker's fondest dream. At least twenty monitors were set up around the room, glowing green and blue and casting an eerie light over the spaghetti-like tangle of cords that covered the floor. She detected no auras in the place, but security cameras were set up throughout. She would have to remain shrouded for a while.

A light in an upstairs office caught her eye and she quickly ran up the stairs. The lock was simple and the door opened to reveal a room filled with what Mitnick would no doubt have on his Christmas list. She counted fifty TV screens showing various angles in the warehouse and even some in places around the city. A shot of the Vesuvius girls dancing on their volcanic stage got her attention, but she knew that Gomez watched for a different reason than she would have. _Teach him to spy on my Dolly..._

A huge motherboard sat against a wall facing a large computer mounted above an old desk. She sat at the desk and pulled up the menu screen. She hacked into the security folder using the password "BigBrotherIsWatching" and went through each camera, disabling their prying eyes. _Big Brother is blinded..._

Safe for the moment, she dropped her disguise of transparency, but kept her Auspex up in case unexpected company came along. She typed in a command for the anti-virus software and disabled it with a few clicks. Gomez should have been smarter than to have used "conspiracy" as his password into the only thing that would save him. Pulling up a menu of conspiracy theories, she absently clicked through them, skimming over the titles.

_"Hypnotic commercials," no..."secret traffic light cameras," uh-uh..."Andromedean invasion," perhaps later..."creatures of the night," not quite..."cell phone radiation"...oops._

She opened "Creatures of the Night" and a password prompt appeared. Using her left hand, she held down Crtl and Alt and pecked "skellingtonkey" with her right hand. She held down Insert and then pressed Enter. A scramble of letters ran across the password bar as one by one they spelled out "paranoiajustified1984".

At least nineteen files containing Gomez's evidence appeared and she read through them quickly. Depositions, photos of crime scenes, coroner's reports, many of them chronicling her own deeds during the short time she'd been dead. _Ooh, I'm famous. And here's my fanbase._ Also among the evidence were countless schedules of Haunted LA, including investigations into the cast and crew's disappearance. Wrayth's mind wandered to the blood-smeared beauty of a black widow she'd met below the hospital. Pisha said she was moving on to another place, and Wrayth couldn't help but think of all the occultish goodies yet to be found in this city alone. _Oh, well. More for me._

Beside the computer was a small TV with a built-in VCR unit. Piles of videotapes lay next to it, some labeled with chicken scratch, others left blank. A videocassette with a torn label protruded from the VCR. Her insatiable curiosity piqued again, she slid it in and switched the TV. Its screen was a little fuzzy with static, but she could make out images just fine. The cameraman cleared his throat.

"Uh, this is Gomez, November 16th, about midnight. I've heard, um, heard a lot of weird stuff about this place and I think it might have something to do with the real truth of what's been going on in the city."

The camera's view revealed the inside of a very dirty, rundown hotel of sorts. It looked familiar. As she squinted at the screen, she recognized it as the derelict temple of the Ninth Circle. The camera angle swept to the floor where rotted body parts and desiccated corpses were carelessly strewn about, some apparently gnawed on. Carrion-gorged flies buzzed noisily in such numbers that the air was nearly black with them. The view became shaky as Gomez began panting in terror and anxiety, muttering a mixture of curses and prayers. Around the corner came a thick moan, not of sadness or pain, but mindless hunger.

_Don't go in there..._ She thought and slapped her hands over her mouth to stifle the inevitable giggles. She knew she was alone, but the slightest chance that she might be heard shut her up. She couldn't give herself away if she hoped for answers tonight.

The camera swung around the corner and right into the arms of a waiting Summoned. Its sore-ridden mouth gaped; bits of black, rotten flesh stuck in the teeth dripped with vileness. One of its clouded eyes dangled loosely from a mangled socket. The wretch lurched for Gomez and the ocular pendulum swung forward, splatting wetly against the camera lens.

Gomez screamed and turned-tail, racing back to where he came in. As he ran, his pumping arms swung the camera into a door and it turned off abruptly. White noise and snowy static took over the screen and Wrayth sat there for a moment, making out faces, words and scenes in the flickering pixels.

She ejected the tape and pulled the virus out of her bag. She opened the jewel case and found a note behind the CD-ROM.

_F1, 'two-faced', F5, 'traitor', hold Alt and press Enter. Ka-boom. - Mitnick_

Popping the CD into the drive, she opened the "double agent" file. A password page opened and she typed in the contents of the note. After pressing Enter, the screen dissolved into a cartoonish, spherical bomb with a hissing fuse. It took all her control not to giggle and clap her hands with glee, and she turned the volume on the computer all the way down just as the bomb disappeared into a cloud of smoke that read "Ka-boom!"

When the pixelated puff of smoke cleared, she discovered that every file on Kindred was cleaned and gone, and in their place was a link to the Schrecknet. She opened it and a message from Mitnick popped up.

_Nice work. Dump all hardcopy evidence into the vent shaft. We'll take care of it. Happy Hunting! -Mitnick"_

Quickly, she closed down the programs and went to the file cabinets on the right side of the office. The files on Kindred were thin, but anything that pointed a finger at them brought on the sun. She gathered them up and glanced at the videotape as an afterthought. She picked up a nearly dried-up Sharpie and wrote "give to Gary, much laughter ensues" on the label. Placing it on the top of the short pile, she carried it down the stairs and crossed to the vent shaft. A pair of glinting, venom green eyes peered out at her.

She opened the grate and slipped the pile to the agent. "Bombs away," she whispered.

A gravelly, nasal laugh answered her. "Nice. Get out quick. Oh, and here." A clawed hand appeared from the blackness, sliding a pair of blood bags to her. She snatched them up and drank one greedily, relishing the warm, coppery flavor.

"A fine O positive bouquet. Thanks to you, kindly sewer prince. May many rats cross your path."

As she exited the warehouse, she let her disciplines fall to nothing, letting the blood replenish her fully. She tossed the empty bag into a fire barrel and made her way towards Confession. A wage run and light snack would do her good.

As she rounded the corner near the decimated Ventrue Tower, the payphone by the bus stop began to ring. Knowing it was no coincidence, she made a beeline for it and picked it up.

"Hello, Lucky Winner! You have been randomly selected to date our mystery guest if you can guess this sound!" A raspy laugh interrupted the bouncy voice and Wrayth felt the down on her neck rise.

"Keep your mysterious match, creepy Crypt-keeper. The Prophet's compy is erased and replaced."

"I know. One of the boys just got back with the evidence. More than I thought there would be. And the tape...sounds like a gas."

"Like a Texaco station. Could you now be my compass to the conspiracy theorist?"

"Sure, Boss, why don't you go confess. You've done your fair share of sinning these nights."

Wrayth chuckled. "Your cryptic quips, dear Crypt King, are well-understood. I have made it in my mind to go to my local priestess."

"Come back when you're done. Don't get sloppy, and most of all, have fun. And remember, never talk to yourself. You never know who's listening."

She frowned, always uncomfortable when his voice went wriggling in places it didn't belong. "There's only so much room in my head for voices. Don't overstay your welcome."

She hung up the phone and resumed her path, stopping for a moment to admire the yet uncleared wreckage of the tower. _Ahh, never get tired of seeing that._ Right before she turned another corner, a moment of clarity made her aware of how conspicuous she was with all of her noisy toys in plain view. She could stand to cover them up a little before meeting with the skittish Gomez. Luckily, Fat Larry's Truck o' Mack was close by.

The rotund, afroed man straightened and smiled when she approached him. "Aw, Baby Girl! Thank the Lord you're okay!"

She grinned at him. "You're concern is flattering, and flattery will get you everywhere my friend."

"Well, I saw you go into that tower and then, well, boom! And I thought...well, you're not. So, okay, what do you need tonight, sweet thang?" He asked as he pushed the roll-away hatch of the truck.

Wrayth's mismatched eyes twinkled at the array of goodies and pretty things. "Have you a regal, royal robe to keep my little ones, and me, warm?"

"Yeah. I think I got somethin'...now let's see...ahh, yeah, here you go." He reached in and pulled out a calf-length trench coat made of thick black leather. A spike-studded belt hung in the belt loops and matching spikes adorned the lapels, wrist cuffs and openings of the deep pockets. The inside of the coat was lined in red silk and had built-in holsters. Stitched on the back were red leather letters that read "Don't fuck with me." She smiled and took it from him, slipping it on slowly to savor the feel of the slithery silk on her cool flesh.

"Fit for a queen of the night. May this make your wallet weighty." She pulled out her wallet and fished out a few bills and tucked it into his afro. He pulled it out and grinned at her.

"You have fun out there tonight, Cleo. By the way, I got some new merchandise coming in a few nights, so stop in and see what I got for you."

"I always want what you have, Street Santa. Farewell."

After she left he truck, she ducked into an alley and rearranged her weapons. One by one, she whipped them out to test how easily each could be equipped. "Pie was never this easy." She put her toys away and straightened her new coat. "Time to defuse the ticking bomb."


	5. Paying the Price

Disc: You know how it goes. And if you don't, well, then, you should.

**Beast**  
Humanity  
_Personal Thoughts_  
_**Voices**_

-  
Retribution and Revolution  
Chapter Five: Paying the Price

**-Confession-**

"Well, hello again, partner. Come back for your cut?" Venus sent Wrayth a playful wink and fingered a wad of cash.

"This wayward worshiper appreciates your blessing, divine priestess." She accepted the money and took a seat at the bar. "Pour me some knowledge, and some red nectar."

"Sure, love. On the house." She retrieved a rather Gothic pewter goblet and began pouring a blood-colored wine into it. Wrayth's stomach turned at the smell of the mortal drink, but she'd remedy that soon. "So, what do you want to know?"

"Does a prophet of propaganda frequent this temple?"

Venus quirked a jetty brow in confusion. "Prophet? Propa...ohh, you must mean Gomez. Sure, he's here most every night. Poor delusional dearie. Been here for the last hour, drinking domestic beer and muttering about some 'evil power'. He's in the loo right now."

"Put a suds from overseas on my tab for the prophet and tell him its origins. I'll await his presence. Thanks to thee for the libation." Wrayth got up from her stool and went to a dark corner booth. Once she sat down, she moved the wineglass under the table and dumped out the offending grape drink. She slit open the other blood bag, pouring it into the glass. Holding it up to the light, it looked no different than the first drink.

She pulled out a photo she'd picked up at the warehouse. It pictured Gomez holding up a large picket sign in front of a grocery store, decrying them for carrying milk tainted with mind control potion. She could barely keep from cracking up when she looked at it, but it was the clearest picture of him she could find. He was of average height, nice-looking with shaggy brown hair and skin that was almost as pale as hers, but from lack of sunlight, not from bloodlessness. His nut-brown eyes were wide, suspicious, and a bit bloodshot, worry lines slashing the outer corners. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, but he could have been a much younger man simply aged by paranoia.

The creaking of a door caught her ear and she turned around as the bathroom door swung closed. Gomez made his way back to the bar, head hung in misery, hands sunk into his pockets. As soon as he sat, Venus slid him a green bottle of imported beer and pointed over his shoulder at her. He glanced at Wrayth and she raised her glass to him with a playful smile. His paper white cheeks flushed beet-red as he looked away, then shyly glanced at her again. After a few moments, he got up and approached her. _Fishy smells bait._

"Uh, hi. Um, thanks for the beer." His eyes darted to the empty seat across from her. "May-may I..."

"You needn't ask, take a load off." She gestured to the seat and he sat down, both hands clutching his beer. "Troubling thoughts make your eyes squirrelly. What makes you nuts tonight?"

"Only everything." He shook his head miserably and fumbled to open the bottle. "I've spent my whole life trying to uncover secrets that the government is keeping from us. And every time I do, someone laughs at me and calls me crazy."

"Hey, me too." She reached across took the troublesome bottle from him. With a flick of her wrist, she popped the top off and handed it back to him, letting her hand linger on his. "Tell me more of our common ground."

Gomez stared at her hand covering his. He looked up at her, suspicion making his tired eyes glitter. "How do I know I can trust you?"

"I frequented your rallies of revolution." Gomez's eyebrows rose high on his creased forehead. Wrayth smiled. _Fishy eats bait._ She looked around, feigning secrecy, then leaned in closer. "MooJuice Milk was my workplace in the past. They gave me the boot when I found out. They _are_ trying to control us."

Gomez's entire face lit up. "Yes! Yes! That's right! Oh, God! And I thought I was the only one! Everyone else, I thought they'd all fallen prey to the evil power!"

_Fishy swallows hook._

She squeezed his hands tightly. "Yes! The dark presence that stalks the night! I know of what you speak!"

"Shh, not here." Gomez glanced furtively around. "I'm staging a rally tonight on the steps of the old library. It's actually great that they haven't gotten around to cleaning up the debris. It'll show people the full force of this evil. If you want, meet me there, and we'll take a stand for all mankind!"

Wrayth smiled at him, but inside her mind, it was chaos. More so than usual.

_Consensus mindforms?_

**Just kill the loudmouth, you pussy. Do away with the worthless kine.**

You can't. He hasn't threatened you at all, and he now has no proof to endanger you. He does not deserve death.

_But he __is__ the beginning of a deadly domino effect. If I do nothing, he'll be the first ray of sunlight on our blood._

**Kill...kill the kine...drain his veins...keep your race safe.**

At the cost of murder? No. Make him your ghoul. That may keep him quiet.

_NO. No one could ever replace my little house pet. There must be an alternate route. He's just crazy enough to be ridiculed and just sane enough to be believed. Oooh that sounds interesting..._

An amusing, relatively harmless plan began to billow like smoke in her brain. She could get rid of the threat and have a damn good laugh at the same time.

"I shall join your riotous rally. We shall exorcise the evil power together." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a few web cams. "These eyes will let you be seen across the web." She leaned closer to him, speaking even softer, drawing on all the charm she had. "Only one thing I ask of you. Keep this secret exclusive to us, until we are ready to make them ready. Yes?"

He stared at her in disbelief. Then, a twinkle entered the dead suspicion in his eyes and a smile made his thin lips broad. "Wow! Thank you, I mean, I need all the help I can get. Meet me at the library in at midnight. And of course, I'll keep it under wraps. We want to give them the full effect all at once."

_Indeed, we do._ "I shall meet you when the tall and small hands kiss upright. Till then, my conspiracy connoisseur," Wrayth raised her glass, careful not to spill a single drop, "to the rally of revelation!"

He grinned wide as he raised his bottle. "To the truth that shall make us all free!" He swilled his beer down and jumped up, a discernable spring in his step as he made for the door. The sight of him so happy for a lie almost made her pity him. She stared into the deep oasis of crimson in the glass and gulped it down, frowning as she found its coldness a little unappetizing.

A giggle from across the room caught her attention. It was the pretty patron she'd seduced earlier. She waved naively and blew her a kiss, her neck stretching ever so slightly. Wrayth's eyes went straight to the tender vein in her neck, warm and pulsing with life and lust. "Now THAT'S appetizing."

-The LA Library-

Wrayth plugged in the cable of the amp into the portable generator. She turned up the volume and set the tall speaker on the steps of the library. "Amplify away!" She called to Gomez who stood on the highest stair, microphone in hand.

"Uh, check one..." He stopped as a loud squeal screeched from the speaker and Wrayth clamped her hands over her sensitive ears. She reached out and gingerly turned the volume knob down to half its setting and pointed to him. "Testing, two, three. Ahem..." He looked back at Wrayth, who was placing the web cams in strategic locations on the library stonework and chunks of debris. She tinkered with the wireless connection and gave him the thumbs up. He nodded and gazed out radiantly into the street.

"People of L.A.! This library used to be a place of knowledge! Hungry minds would flock to it and be fed the things they wished to know! But even this hallowed building, rich with tomes of knowledge, cannot tell you the things I know! Why? Be cause it's all a front! A setup! I know the truth!"

He was a gifted speaker she had to admit. _All the more reason why we are here._ A few night owls had stopped their midnight strolls to stand before him and listen. "This night, I will tell all of you the truth! The police, the ones who should be protecting us, are just as disillusioned. They have blamed the insane, inexplicable things that have plagued our city these past weeks on terrorists! It's a lie! They have no idea who is really behind these crimes, these atrocities to society and humanity!"

The crowd was growing larger and beginning to chatter enthusiastically in response. _Show time._ Wrayth delved into the strange corridors of her mind and dipped into the power of her blood. Reaching out psychically, the insane Kindred connected with Gomez. _Through my madness, your tune will be forever changed._ He froze as the invisible fingers of madness stroked and massaged his mind, enveloping his sanity like a poisonous fog. The crowd began to murmur as the once outspoken man now stood on the podium like a statue. Wrayth broke the link and leaned against a streetlight to watch the fun.

Gomez's head dropped to his chest, drawing a few gasps from the crowd. Quietly, he began to chuckle. The chuckling rose into louder guffaws of uncontrollable, knee-slapping laughter. Finally, he controlled it long enough looked out at the crowd.

"It was _me_, I say! I'm sick of the terrorists getting all the credit for MY work! Mine, _mine_, MINE! I did it all!" His mouth drew into a grinning rictus and his eyes went glassy. Wrayth hugged her stomach and stomped her feet, trying to contain her own laughter. She sometimes forgot how fun insanity was. "All the crazy shit that's happened, all me! That boat in the harbor, ME! The fires in the Hills and Santa Monica, ME!" By now, Gomez had descended the stairs and was dashing here and there in the crowd, thrusting his face close to random listeners. "And there was no 'Southland Slasher!' That was me, too! See that tower there, my finest work! Ooh, I'm a bad, bad boy! And I ain't sorry for it, neither!"

The sheer volume of his confession reached to a good half-mile radius, enough to bring some of the cops roaming the streets running to the scene. Among them was the one Wrayth had seduced that drink and bike out of. "Oooh, cops! Perfect! Hey, over here, you donut-munchers! Here's your promotion, the greatest criminal mastermind of all time! Put that on your meager list of accomplishments for the decade!"

The now-bikeless cop pulled his gun. "Alright you! Hands up where I can see you! Charlie! Get this crowd moving!" Gomez fell to his knees, hands over his head, his insane confession dissolving into comatose laughter. Two officers hauled him to his feet while another shooed the crowd away. As Wrayth began to move in their direction, the cop saw her and hailed her. She turned sinuously and smiled as he approached her. "Hey you, what are you doing out here? I hope that loony didn't try to hurt you."

Wrayth watched the officers shove the still giggling Gomez into the squad car. "Tsk-tsk. It's always the quiet ones. People should talk to themselves more often."

"You sure you're alright?" He asked, stepping closer to offer a protective, affectionate, arm.

Feeling a little dry after her mental exertion, she melded her body into his. "I am better than alright." She traced the line of his square jaw and watch in mild amusement as he swayed under her expert touch. "You are here...and I am here..." He let himself be held in her arms, and she drew close to his neck, running her tongue over the pulsing blue vein. _Easy prey._

There was a loud blast to her right and an explosion of pain ripped through her right shoulder. She screamed and pushed the entranced kine away from her, unsheathing her blade with a snarl. Her arm hung limply, the wound hot and angry with little pops of fire sparking within it. _So that's what Dragon's Breath feels like!_

Standing in the middle of the street, in full view of the officers, was a filthy, burly man in a thick trench coat holding a sawed-off shotgun. She could tell by his scent he was kine, but his eyes bore crimson hate and savagery. "Foolish, black-handed little pawn! Quit this place and keep your worthless hide!"

"You killed my master! His brothers! You are dead bitch! Again!" He aimed his shotgun, but found it empty. As he fumbled to reload it, Wrayth rushed him, plunging her blade into his gut. He growled and cuffed her, sending her down among the wreckage around them. He yanked the blade free, but before he could use it, she leapt onto him and together they rolled about, each struggling over the lethal blade. As they writhed, Wrayth grabbed at a jagged piece of re-bar under her; she jabbed it into his guts and gave it a wiggle. He cried out and grabbed it, giving her time to smash her fist into his nose and roll behind a sizable piece of building fodder. Quickly, she disappeared into the shadows, her mind racing and her Beast screaming for vengeance. The officers were all aiming at him, Gomez forgotten in the squad car. They screamed orders at him to put his gun down. He pointed the shotgun around at the ground, trying to find her, cursing her and the officers all the while.

In desperation and a little viciousness, Wrayth drew upon the last bit of blood she could spare and threw a blast of her madness his way. _Let your mind shatter on this final vision!_ Her malicious shriek sank into his brain and the ghoul clutched his heart.

"NO! No, master! Don't turn me into one of _those_ things!" As the fear of what he saw overtook him, he scrabbled at his throat, trying to breathe. "Please! I'm loyal! I'm loyal to the death! NOOOOooooo..."

Wrayth smiled grimly as she heard his heart pop, felt his brain collapse as he crumpled under the unbearable terror. He dropped dead on the spot, pure horror etched forever on his face. She emerged from her invisibility, her wound still hot with tiny fireworks. The Beast, feeding on her vulnerability, sank its claws into her core, bringing her to her knees. She buried her head in her hands, feeling bloodless and hungry.

Her blood doll ran up to her and knelt down to check the ghoul's pulse. "Put your weapons down, he's dead! Must've had a heart attack. Put your weapons down, dammit! He fired on her first! You just get the crowd out of here and get the prisoner to the precinct, got it?" He got up and went to Wrayth. "Good God, your wound! What the...never mind, we have to get you to a hospital."

Wrayth began to sob against the frenzy she felt welling up. Her Beast was slathering and clawing at her insides, growling in anticipation of freedom. She couldn't lose it. Not now. Not when she'd gone out of her way to avoid spilling innocent blood this night. She could smell the sweetness...feel the heat of his blood...

_Can't resist...have to..._ Grabbing his shirtfront, she dragged him down beside her and curled into a ball in his lap. She had to get at least some control before she fed or she risked ripping him open. "Fear...fear is drowning me! Be my lifesaver, keep me afloat!"

He didn't hesitate, but cradled her close, urging her head into the crook of his shoulder. She could feel his pulse against her forehead. Her head swam, her fangs ached. She pressed her lips to the fluttering vein. It beat gently against her mouth, like the brush of butterfly wings. The need within her twisted painfully.

**Feed...**_**feed**_**...no more pain...** She smiled against his skin as the venomous whispers urged her on.

"We really should...uhn..." He moaned as she began to lick and suckle his neck. The pulsing grew stronger, like a primal drum. "We need to get you...to a...hospital..." His voice grew sleepy as she continued to kiss him, bringing him down into the blood trance again.

"You are the best medicine..." She grazed her fangs against the vein and his head fell forward onto her shoulder. Unable to hold back any longer, she sank her fangs into his neck and drank deeply, greedily, feeling the strong health of his blood revive her and quiet her Beast. Time became meaningless. She barely felt her wound cooling or closing up so enthralled was she in this feeding. It was different this time. It reached deeper parts of her and felt wonderfully intoxicating. So delicious... she had to have more.

His heart rate began to wane before she finally realized what was happening. It took some effort to pull away from him. Relishing the flavor of his blood and the orgasmic moan he emitted, she licked the wound closed, then once more to taste his flesh again. Pausing to make sure he was still breathing, she left him unconscious against the debris. She crept towards the parking garage where her bike awaited to take her back to the knowledgeable Nosferatu.

It was time for this crazy Kindred's hunger for answers to also be met.

**-Hollywood-  
-The Warrens-**

"Anything good on tonight, Voice?"

Gary, reclining next to the skeleton of Marilyn Monroe, glanced up at her as she came in. "Mitnick caught all the footage, boss. Ol' Gomez really flipped."

"His message will never be believed where he goes now." Wrayth smiled deviously as she remembered her handiwork. An end to the threat, one of the best laughs she'd had in a while, and a scapegoat for her deadly deeds to boot. Now, if only she could get the TV to stop accusing her...

Gary straightened up and sniffed the air. "You smell like Sabbat, boss. You have a little run-in?"

Wrayth shrugged. "Not a black-handed baddie, but a ghoulish goon who sought my death. He was fun."

"I'm sure he was, boss, but now to business. First off, Mitnick wanted to give you this." Gary tossed her a key card with a Post-it note on it. She caught it and read the note.

"You've opened some doors for us...here's me returning the favor. No more stealing hotel keys... -Mitnick."

She peeled off the note and smiled as she read the words written hastily on the white card. Skeleton Key 2.0. "The Master of Megabytes is far too kind."

"You're one of the best information poachers we've seen in a while. And we've been around a long while. Now, about those answers I promised you, boss."

Wrayth felt excitement tingling in her brain and plopped down in a chair. "Yes, yes! Tease me no more, good Ruler of Rats!"

"Well, it's a good thing you're sitting, because this is quite the juicy piece." He pulled the piece of denim from his jacket and tossed it to her. "Take another whiff boss. Recognize it from anywhere at all?"

Wrayth pressed the fabric close to her nose and breathed deeply. Through the scent of the Malkavian, and of Gary, she found the faint, fair scent that had taken hold of her. "Yes, the nose knows. A thin-blooded oracle on the saintly lady's beach wears this scent, but it is as weak as she is. This is strong and pure."

"Oracle...you're right about that, boss. And to tell you the truth, that Thin Blood is lucky she has any of her clan's characteristics. She and that scent belongs to a clan called the Salubri."

Wrayth felt a flicker of recognition for the name and a warming sensation in her cold blood. "Salubri...the name tastes sweet in my mouth."

"It ought to. See, way back when in the days of Enoch, Malkav and Saulot, founder of the Salubri, were pretty good pals."

"Saulot! Malkav's mental medic!"

"Give you an inch, boss, heh-heh. Again, you're right. When Malkav got really deep into his madness, Saulot was able to ease his mind a little. Some Salubri are healers, and some are warriors… demon-slayers, and I'm talking the real baddies, boss."

Wrayth thought back to the young Shih she'd aided earlier. She thought that the young hunter would enjoy the company of such Kindred. She fingered the fabric again. "This scent is fresh. Could the strange rose have visited their garden?"

"I doubt it, boss. We've been keeping tabs on their nest, trying to keep an eye out for the mages. We haven't seen anyone but Salubri and the occasional kine up there."

"Know you where lies the clairvoyant coven?"

"Sure boss. What _don't_ we know about this city? It's in the Hills, pretty close to that fleshcrafter's place."

Wrayth frowned. "_Former_ fleshcrafter, you mean. Do these seers also have black palms?"

Gary laughed, a nasty nasal sound. "Not by a long shot. The Salubri are the do-gooders of our kind. You think Torrie's pride themselves on their Humanity? You meet one of these Kindred, you'd never look twice."

"Be a cartographer for this pathless traveler."

Gary's smile twisted in amusement. "Humor me, boss. Why?"

Wrayth leaned over the table, odd eyes set like stone. "I am bound to this scent. Knowing secret things makes my monster stay silent. Remember that Demon of Knowledge I spoke of?"

"Heh-heh, don't get your panties in a bunch, boss. I didn't say I wouldn't tell you. I like knowing things too." He glanced at the tall grandfather clock in the corner. "But I wouldn't go anywhere in a hurry. You probably won't beat the sunrise."

Wrayth turned to the clock. Six o'clock. She slapped her forehead. By now, she would certainly be missed on the surface. "Cursed be me for hocking every timepiece I find...oh well. Do you charge lodgings?"

"Not a red cent, boss. Take the room next to Imalia's. But don't think you can crash here every morning. The others might think I've opened up a halfway house for wayward Kindred."

"Halfway is a significant step in any journey." Wrayth picked up the scrap of denim and walked towards the doors leading into the Warrens. She glanced back at Gary, who'd already vanished into the shadows again. "You hold the other half, and I pray you keep your word tomorrow night."

"You have no reason not to trust me, but it's good to see you aren't completely naïve. You'll get what you want, boss."

"Want and Need are warring factions, but both sides are appeased in this." She drew her coat around her and made her way to her room for the day. She only hoped that a new model hadn't entered Imalia's fragile little world again. She couldn't deal with the bitching beauty queen again so soon.


End file.
